


what tangled webs we weave

by Lint



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: “You don't get to be who you are,” Cheryl goes on, voice softening a little. “Not in this family. Not if you want to survive.”





	1. Chapter 1

 

Betty lies.

 

Whenever she's asked about her feelings.

 

A question she's become quite accustomed to, after what happened. Her replies pensive and practiced, every bit the traumatized ten year old she's expected to be. How she went to bed one night, a regular kid growing up in a small town, and woke up an orphan. Her house transformed into one of horrors. Of which she was spared by the simplest of happenstance, sneaking over to the boy next door, for an impromptu slumber party with her best friend in the world.

 

She doesn't dare tell the psychiatrists, social workers, and child services that instead of some kind of melancholy and endless pit of sadness she feels nothing at all. That if she dared let herself, just for a moment, the twisted thing inside that whispers between her ears would be let out.

 

They'd never let her go after that. She's young, but not dumb. Her mother always made sure to never sugar coat the world. If a girl suffers the loss of her entire family at the hand of a serial killer thought long dead, and she shows any sign of it lingering more than what's expected, it will be used against her. So she says the right things, jams her fingernails into the palm of her hand in a bit of self harm that is completely understood among the circumstances, and steels herself against a life that is no longer familiar.

 

Standing in the foyer of a giant house, suitcase in hand, she dares a few curious glances at her new surroundings. It was admittedly confusing, when the social worker assigned to her case informed that she'd been adopted, just two days into foster care.

 

More confusing that it was the Blossom's who took her in. Their family connection already paper thin, coupled with the fact that she's pretty sure Dad and Uncle Clifford hated each other. She'd been to Thornhill only once or twice in her life, and even then for events where excluding the Cooper branch of the tree would have reflected badly upon them.

 

“They aren't here.”

 

Betty's head snaps quickly to where the voice came from, and sees Cheryl's face resting between two slats of the banister, hands gripping each one tightly.

 

“Who isn't here?”

 

“Mommy and Daddy,” Cheryl answers. “Don't take it personal, Cousin. They probably didn't remember you were being delivered today.”

 

Delivered, Betty muses. Like a package in the mail. Not dropped off to her new home and family, like all orphan happy endings in the movies.

 

“Come on up,” Cheryl continues. “I can show you your new room, if you want.”

 

Betty trudges up the stairs to Cheryl's expectant form, and follows obediently as they walk down the hall. She doesn't say anything like welcome, or we're happy to have you, not that Betty thought she would. They've been in the same classes their entire lives, and never acted very friendly to one another, let alone like they're related.

 

Cheryl stops in front of a door, and Betty naturally assumes it's her room, then gasps when her hands are quickly swatted away while reaching for the knob.

 

“That's Jason's room,” she snaps. “You're not allowed in there.”

 

Right, Betty thinks. The Blossom's are victims of their own tragedy. Jason, their only son and Cheryl's twin, taken by the current of Sweetwater River and drowned. Almost a year ago today, if she remembers correctly. Wow, what a delightful coincidence that turned out to be.

 

“Message received,” Betty mutters.

 

Cheryl stares at her.

 

“I don't think it is,” she warns. “You will never take his place. Even if my parents felt sorry for you and brought you into our home, it will never really be yours. Get that?”

 

Betty scowls, but nods, and they continue down the hall. The last door on the left is actually Betty's room, Cheryl shows her in, waving an arm unceremoniously.

 

“It's not much.”

 

Not much to Cheryl is a room bigger than her old one and Polly's combined, but Betty doesn't comment on that, setting her suitcase on the edge of the bed. She turns around to ask a question, but the girl is already gone.

 

-

 

Betty only falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, laying across the top of the bed fully clothed, and when she dreams the only thing she can see is the knife that stole her family. It floats above her head, just waiting to drop. She wakes with a start, then jumps again realizing Cheryl is right there.

 

“What?” Betty mumbles, still half asleep. “Are you doing?”

 

Cheryl doesn't answer right away, and for a moment Betty wonders if she's still dreaming, but then she leans forward to where her face is revealed through the moonlight streaking in from the window.

 

“You were screaming,” she informs. “Not like, super loud or anything, but I heard you.”

 

The knife still feels like it's above Betty's head.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

Cheryl's face sours instantly.

 

“I don't,” she states flatly, rising to her feet and about to storm off when Betty reaches out to stop her.

 

She doesn't apologize, but Cheryl doesn't pull out of her grasp either, and for a moment they stay like that. Awkwardly frozen.

 

It's then Betty realizes, that even though Cheryl's parents are still alive, the death of her brother means she's just as alone.

 

/\

 

Betty picks up right away that the Blossom's didn't adopt her out of the kindness of their hearts. Sometimes she's not even sure they have them, with how calm and cold they are, and that Cheryl lashes out every second they aren't around because she's buttoned up to the top in their presence. She becomes a ghost of herself at Thornhill. Only speaks when spoken to. Says yes, no, please and thank you with banal regularity. A well behaved child is exactly what they're looking for. It's used against Cheryl at almost every chance, but much to Betty's chagrin, her cousin does not hold it against her.

 

Instead a bond is slowly formed in private, because Cheryl knows Betty is simply playing a game, but one with rules she just can't bind herself to.

 

She's presented with a horse on her birthday, and it seems so lavishly ridiculous, a burst of uncharacteristic laughter escapes her. Aunt Penelope and Uncle Clifford do not chide her, however, sharing a bemused look between them. Cheryl offers no commentary, other than she guesses Betty will be joining her in riding lessons from now on.

 

The result of these lessons, produces the only bit of nostalgia Betty will ever see with her new family, in the form of a portrait. Where she and Cheryl are perched side by side upon their noble steeds, in matching riding outfits only differentiated by the colors of blue and red, with bows and arrows perched upon their backs.

 

(Placid, obedient smiles on their faces.)

 

/\

 

It's kind of party where rich people invite other rich people, even if they don't like them very much.

 

That's the only reason Betty can think of, as to why she and Cheryl are attending the Bat Mitzvah celebration of Libby Katzenberg, a girl they've never even met. Apparently Uncle Clifford is the only syrup producer around, willing to make kosher batches for the Jewish community, and Libby's father owns a chain of markets with exclusive buying rights. Even with such a business arrangement, Betty can see the animosity when they shake hands upon greeting each other, and the first thing she does is look to Cheryl who nods as they break away from the adults.

 

Her cousin in turn, ditches her at the spread of food, after Betty has eaten her sixth latke. Not that she minds. Cheryl has done nothing but complain since their arrival, having previous plans with her friend Heather for the day, and the mandatory attendance for this event has rankled her in the most unpleasant of ways.

 

Betty makes a few circles of the crowd, but can't seem to find Cheryl anywhere, and slips out of the hall to get some air. She's leaning against a column of the building, when footsteps echo off the concrete behind her, and she glances back to see a girl about her age.

 

She's staring at her shoes, so Betty can't get a good look at her face, but that problem solves itself as she looks up with a startled gasp at Betty's presence.

 

“Oh!” she cries. “I didn't... I didn't think anyone would be out here.”

 

Betty recognizes her from the picture by the entrance, Libby Katzenberg, the girl of honor. Smiling when she nervously fidgets with her glasses, Betty offers her hand in greeting, which is looked upon strangely enough to where she withdraws it quickly.

 

“Sorry,” Libby offers, sticking out her own hand. “That was rude of me.”

 

Their hands clasp, however awkwardly.

 

“I'm... Well, I kind of suck at parties.”

 

Betty smiles wider. The girl is too adorable.

 

“Kind of a strange day to realize that, huh?”

 

Libby blinks at her.

 

“I just meant-”

 

“No I got it,” Libby assures. “I'm just, well, so freaking awkward and he doesn't understand it.”

 

Betty clucks her tongue, keeping another comment to herself, but offers a question instead.

 

“You didn't want this party, did you?”

 

Libby shakes her head.

 

“I begged him,” she replies. “My Dad, I mean. I-I don't like being the center of attention. I don't like crowds. I don't like-”

 

“People?” Betty fills in.

 

Libby chuckles softly.

 

“Sorry to just drop this on you.”

 

Betty shrugs.

 

“It's your party,” she says. “You can unload if you want to.”

 

Libby smiles at her.

 

Betty can't help to stare at her lips.

 

-

 

Libby spends most afternoons working at one her dad's markets. To build character, he says, though her duties mostly involve sweeping the floors and straightening out shelves. Betty finds herself visiting the store every chance she gets, emboldened by the idea that it's nice to be able to escape Thornhill's walls, for a destination other than Archie's garage. Also Libby goes to a private school, and is usually busy with various activities on the weekends, so it's their only real time to spend together. Even if that time is occupied by a broom in hand.

 

Something in Betty's stomach always flips whenever Libby smiles at her, so she makes a pointed effort to get the girl to do it quite frequently. And there's something thrilling about how Libby's eyes go wide whenever Betty dares to touch her, whether it be a playful pat after she's said something funny, or going for a hug goodbye when she has to go home.

 

It's a slow, blustery winter day, when the store manager has an emergency at home and can't get a hold of Libby's dad to let him know they have to leave for a bit. Betty is honestly surprised when Libby volunteers to mind the shop, even if no one has come in the entire time she's been here, but not as much as when the manager says yes and flees out the door.

 

“Well boss,” Betty teases. “What's your first assignment?”

 

Libby leans against one of the checkout counters, a playful smirk on her face.

 

“I think,” she starts, surveying all the empty aisles, “That for once, I'm going to take it easy.”

 

Ten minutes later, when the store is filled with people, Libby is frantically trying her best to accommodate them all and Betty jumps in to help. Running the checkout register after a quick minute of tutoring, while Libby helps out customers on the floor. The rush last for almost an hour, before the manger makes their way back, and carries on another thirty minutes despite the extra person.

 

When it finally dies down, and the manager give Libby the okay to head home, she and Betty linger out in front the store waiting for their rides.

 

“You didn't have to do all that,” Libby offers shyly, looking at Betty with a sort of revere. “I mean, you don't even work here, and-”

 

“Not a big deal,” Betty replies with a shrug. “You needed the help and I was there-”

 

Libby steps closer, and Betty tries to distract herself from certain thoughts, by staring at the little tufts of hair coming out of the girl's knit cap.

 

“It was a big deal,” Libby interrupts softly. “You're a big deal. To me, I mean..”

 

She laughs softly to herself, blushing as if she has more to say but can't find the words, then Betty is the one to brave that last step and kisses Libby underneath the flickering neon sign. Libby's arms go around her easily, as if she'd been thinking about this as much as Betty has, neither girl bothered by the harsh winter chill.

 

“Wow,” Libby manages when the finally part.

 

“Yeah,” Betty replies, not knowing what else to say.

 

The only thing that ruins the moment, is Cheryl's sudden presence, squealing _oh my god_ and grabbing Betty's hand to pull her toward the car.

 

-

 

Cheryl is furious, though Betty can't understand why. With all her cousins snobby faults, she never thought bigotry was one of them. She keeps daring looks from the corner of her eye, but it appears that Cheryl is in full shut down mode, arms folded and gaze focused straight ahead.

 

“Cheryl-”

 

“Don't.”

 

“But-”

 

“Not another word, Betty dearest. We're just going to ride silently in this car until we get home, then we're never going to talk about what happened again. If that means your little _friendship_ has to end, then so be it.”

 

Betty's jaw drops.

 

“That's not-”

 

Cheryl's head snaps to her.

 

“Fair? Of course it isn't.”

 

Betty's cheeks flush with anger, as she mutters under her breath.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I said,” Betty begins, gathering her course. “That you're just jealous.”

 

Cheryl scoffs audibly.

 

“You were too afraid to take that step with Heather, so now you're just punishing me because I wasn't.”

 

The fire in Cheryl's eyes turns to an inferno.

 

“Jealous?” she seethes. “Afraid? You stupid, stupid cow. I wasn't afraid. I was in love. So was she. But Mommy found out.”

 

Betty inhales sharply, always curious as to why Heather stopped coming around. Why her friendship with Cheryl just suddenly stopped, though her cousin would never talk about it when she tried to find out.

 

“You don't get to be who you are,” Cheryl goes on, voice softening a little. “Not in this family. Not if you want to survive.”

 

Tears well in Betty's eyes.

 

“If you have something to tell me, do it now. Then never, ever, say it again.”

 

One tear falls. Then another. And another.

 

“I think,” Betty chokes out. “I think I like girls... I think I _love_ girls.”

 

Cheryl reaches over and takes her hand.

 

“I know, sweetie.”

 

/\

 

Betty is sipping on a milkshake in a booth at Pop's listening to Archie babble on about his newfound love for making music, while Cheryl doesn't even feign an interest in the subject focusing on her phone instead, when the most beautiful girl she's ever seen enters the diner like Red Riding Hood coming in from the woods.

 

Wrong color, but the cloak is prevalent, and their eyes meet as the girl pulls the hood back from her head. The bell above the door chimes again, and in walks another girl with bright pink hair sporting a leather jacket. There's an automatic assumption, based on appearance alone, that they're not together. But then the pretty girl in the cloak turns back to say something, which the pink haired girl laughs loudly at.

 

They strut down the aisle as if they own the place, Betty watching every step in fascination, when suddenly a finger curls under her jaw to close her mouth left hanging slightly open.

 

“You shouldn't drool Cousin,” Cheryl teases. “It's unbecoming.”

 

The duo stop in front of the table, ask Pop about an order placed for Lodge, then turn to the group of them and offer polite hellos. Her name is Veronica Lodge, the leather clad girl is Toni, and yes they're sisters. A statement that raises a few eyebrows, but nobody is rude enough to ask. Betty feels the flush in her cheeks spread all the way down her neck. Really what right does this girl, Veronica, have in being so gorgeous?

 

She shoots a quick glance to Cheryl, who seems to be eyeing both girls warily, as if they brought trouble along with their out of place style. The pink haired one, Toni, has no trouble at all matching her cousin's gaze. Archie meanwhile, is his affable goofy self, diffusing whatever dramatic tension is born of the introductions.

 

There's an offer to meet up in school tomorrow, with a underlying promise to become friends.

 

Betty's blood hums with how much she's looking forward to it.

 

-

 

She's in the Blue and Gold office, shuffling around old articles that never made it into the paper last year, when Toni comes wandering in with a camera around her neck. Betty greets her, shoving the papers into a desk drawer, and takes a seat before asking what she can do for the girl.

 

“You guys got a staff photographer?” she asks.

 

Betty laughs.

 

“Hardly have a staff,” she admits. “If you wouldn't mind doing a few more things than principal photography, I'll happily welcome you aboard.”

 

They fall easily into conversation, having quite a few things in common that involve some form of journalism, especially when it comes to true crime. Toni matches her tit for tat in curiosity of cold cases, and before they know it free period is almost over, which Betty apologizes unnecessarily for taking up all of Toni's.

 

“Please,” she detracts. “I can't remember the last time I got to talk so openly about my macabre hobbies. It's not like my sister has any interest in them.”

 

Betty tries not to react at the statement of their relation, but something must show on her face, because Toni looks amused but not insulted.

 

“I'm adopted,” she gives.

 

“Oh,” Betty replies with a nod. “R-right. I mean, I didn't want to be rude.”

 

Toni laughs.

 

“Trust me, it happens all the time. But my dad, he was basically Hiram Lodge's right hand man, and when he... Had an accident. They took me in. I've been Veronica's sister ever since.”

 

Betty nods again.

 

“So am I,” she offers. “Adopted I mean.”

 

Now it's Toni's turn to show a reaction she doesn't mean to, but covers it quickly.

 

“You mean that redhead with the attitude isn't really your sister?” she asks.

 

Betty smirks.

 

“Cousin, actually.”

 

Something else shows on Toni's face.

 

“What?” Betty inquires.

 

“Okay, full disclosure? I knew that. I know, um, quite a lot about you actually.”

 

Betty's eyes widen.

 

“I mean, about what happened to your family. True crime buff, remember?”

 

Betty's hands clench, nails digging into her palms in that familiar way, her pulse suddenly racing.

 

“What I don't know,” Toni carries on. “Is if you ever talk about it.”

 

The twisted thing she holds inside, dormant since her confession to Cheryl after kissing Libby Katzenberg, stirs at the topic.

 

“I don't,” Betty states coldly. “Talk about it. Ever.”

 

Toni, realizing she overstepped, rises from her seat is sincerely apologetic. Betty holds it together until she exits the room, then fails to swallow back her rage, and nearly breaks her hand from repeatedly beating it into the desk.

 

-

 

And so it goes.

 

Veronica and Toni sew their places within the group seamlessly. Veronica even joins the Vixens while Toni continues to work on the Blue and Gold. For a good long stretch, they're normal kids growing up in a small town, without salacious drama or murderous intent.

 

Betty lets herself enjoy an easy, if not flirtatious friendship with Veronica, never daring that extra step but never denying the possibility either. Cheryl and Toni, however, are antagonistic to put lightly and borderline volatile to be accurate. Funny thing is, every seems to see right through the insults. That every biting comment Cheryl tosses out, and every witty comeback Toni gives back, is the text book scenario of opposites attract. Each one too guarded or scared to admit any true feelings, so they cover up by an overzealous display of adverse emotion.

 

Even Archie tells them to get a room, after a particularly nasty lunchtime row, that Cheryl feigns such

an affront to the idea she storms off without looking back. Betty gives chase, managing to catch up with her halfway across the football field, and grab her by the shoulders. She spins her cousin around, but Cheryl refuses to look at her, focusing on her feet instead.

 

“If you're here to apologize for your bosom buddy, save it.”

 

“I'm not,” Betty assures. “But I think it's time you let this fear of yours go.”

 

Cheryl quickly looks up, features pinched.

 

“Excuse you?”

 

Betty doesn't blink.

 

“You're not thirteen years old anymore,” she continues. “You're smarter than you were then. More cautious. Your mother can't watch you twenty-four hours a day, and we both know that if you behave yourself, she doesn't bother the rest of the time anyway.”

 

Cheryl's face relaxes just a bit.

 

“What are you getting at, Cousin?”

 

“You like Toni,” Betty answers. “She likes you. And I know you're terrified of what it could lead to, especially with our family, but I think it might be worth the risk if you can finally be happy.”

 

Cheryl inhales sharply.

 

“Who says I'm not happy?”

 

Betty presses on.

 

“Because you can't be who you are. Just like I can't. But I'm telling you Cheryl, you can be. I'm right here. I'm with you. I'll help you.”

 

Tears well in Cheryl's eyes, a few spilling down her cheeks.

 

“You really think she likes me?”

 

Betty chuckles softly.

 

“It's that or she's just as crazy for a fight as you are,” she teases. “Which it further proof, when you think about it.”

 

Cheryl laughs brokenly.

 

“I can help you too. With Veronica, if you want. We can help each other.”

 

Betty smiles sadly.

 

“Don't know if I'm ready for that yet,” she admits. “But thanks.”

 

Cheryl nods, before pulling her into a hug.

 

-

 

At the end of the day Betty sighs in front of her locker, though it seems Cheryl and Toni might actually get somewhere now, the effort put in is a bit more taxing that she assumed. Still, it's worth it to see a genuine smile on her cousin's face for once. Twisting the knob around with her combination, she's fully ready to shed the ten pounds worth of books from her backpack, when a folded up note falls to the floor upon opening the door.

 

Betty looks at it curiously, having not gotten a note passed her way since elementary school, and crouches down to retrieve it. Her backpack drops to the ground with a thud upon her reading it, the twisted thing inside stirring once again at the sight of cut and pasted letters.

 

_Tell your friend to stop snooping._

_-The Black Hood_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Betty sits at her desk in the Blue and Gold office, the note folded back into its little square resting upon the surface. It's the same cold empty feeling coursing through her veins, back when she was sitting in the Sheriff's office, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate she never intended to drink. Being told her entire family was dead. As if she hadn't seen it for herself. She was numb then. Just as she is now looking at the note, wondering what was so important about an unsolved massacre from forty years past, that it deemed to repeat itself before her very eyes.

 

Toni walks in, with a smile on her face that quickly fades when their eyes meet.

 

“Oh no,” she says. “Who died?”

 

Betty doesn't laugh, and Toni grimaces at the failed joke, taking a seat atop one of the empty desks.

 

“No one,” she replies in all seriousness. “Yet.”

 

Toni's brow furrows, as if she's sussing out whether or not Betty is kidding, then hunches her shoulder realizing she's not.

 

“Okay, what's going on?”

 

Betty picks up the note between two fingers, tapping it idly against the desk.

 

“You asked if I ever talk about what happened to my family,” she states for the record.

 

“And I overstepped,” Toni assures. “I get that.”

 

“Yeah,” Betty accepts. “But I didn't tell you why.”

 

Toni's eyes widen.

 

“You don't have to-”

 

“My parents owned the Riverdale Register. The hometown newspaper that existed for nearly a hundred years, before their deaths, but it nearly died itself a few times before that. I mean, who in the internet age really reads the paper anymore? Even in a small town.”

 

Toni nods.

 

“They fought a lot, trying to keep it afloat, Mom never above a little sensational journalism, and Dad always wanting some kind of integrity. Whatever, right? I mean it chugged along, we had a pretty normal life. But one night...”

 

She trails off, having not thought about it once in six whole years, not even when the Sheriff asked her if she had any idea why her family was killed.

 

“One night,” she repeats. “They're fighting so bad, I wake up, and being my mother's daughter I get curious. So I crawl out of bed, sneak down the stairs, and see them in the kitchen but they don't see me.”

 

Toni is riveted.

 

“The Riverdale Reaper slaughtered an entire family out in Fox Forest. Broke into their house. Shot them all dead and was never caught.”

 

Betty looks to her.

 

“I assume you know this?”

 

Toni nods.

 

“It was one of the first things I learned about this town, when Veronica told me we were moving here.”

 

“So you know the family?”

 

Toni nods again.

 

“The Conway's, right?” she answers. “If memory serves, a Mother, and a Father. Two kids. A boy and girl?”

 

Betty glances down at the note.

 

“That's what the stories all say. But I guess my Mom discovered something new about the case. Something history thought long buried.”

 

She sighs.

 

“There was a second son. A third Conway child. Somehow he survived.”

 

Toni can't believe it.

 

“Are you serious?” she asks, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. “Betty that's incredible.”

 

Betty agrees.

 

“Mom sure thought so. Said it would save the paper. The Riverdale story of the century.”

 

She unfolds the note.

 

“Two days later, someone broke into my house and slit my family's throats in their sleep.”

 

She offers it to Toni.

 

“This is what happens when you ask questions someone doesn't want answered.”

 

Toni's expression pales while reading the note.

 

“Is this real?”

 

“Found it in my locker yesterday.”

 

Betty rises from her chair.

 

“You make Cheryl so happy,” she offers. “She'd be devastated if anything happened to you.”

 

Toni's head snaps up.

 

“Wait, you think this is talking about me?”

 

Betty looks confused, the twisted thing inside perking its head.

 

“You're saying it's not?”

 

Toni quickly sets the note back on the desk.

 

“I asked you about what happened, forty-five minutes into a conversation about unsolved cold cases, and you shut me down. The subject is off limits, and I understood that. I wasn't going to go digging into the worst day of your life behind your back.”

 

Toni taps at the note with her finger.

 

“Either someone is playing a sick game with you,” she posits. “Or there's big trouble coming your way.”

 

Betty groans, covering her face with her hand.

 

As if her life isn't complicated enough.

 

/\

 

“You're doing it again,” Cheryl accuses, grabbing Betty's hands and examining her palms. “Aren't you?”

 

Betty doesn't deny or make excuses, choosing not to answer at all.

 

“Does it have something to do with a certain brunette who is head over heels for you? Of which I still don't understand why you keep shuffling your feet, instead of just going for it.”

 

The crescent shapes on her hands are pretty fresh, and sting when the skin stretches, but she keeps quiet and doesn't answer her cousin again.

 

“Or does it have to do with whatever super secret investigation you've got going on with Ma Cherie? And before you ask, yes, I'm furious with you for keeping it from me. So don't you dare try to feed me some line about it being for my own protection. The two most important people in my life sticking their necks out into danger, and I'm supposed to what, stand idly by?”

 

Their eyes meet.

 

“The less people involved, the better.” Betty finally gives.

 

Cheryl's thumb rubs over the deepest indentation, ignoring the hiss it draws.

 

“Because if something bad happens to either of you, it's fine? You understood the danger, and chose to commit a noble sacrifice in the name of what?”

 

Betty looks away.

 

“I can't believe you of all people, would think death is about the ones gone, more than those left behind.”

 

Tears well in Cheryl's eyes.

 

“I already lost Jason.”

 

They fall in quick succession down her cheeks.

 

“What would I do?” she asks softly. “If I lost you too?”

 

Betty fulls her hands free, to wipe the tears from Cheryl's face.

 

“And one of my sisters has already been killed,” she replies. “Why would I be willing to offer up the other?”

 

Cheryl's expression becomes awash with conflicting emotion. Anger and understanding. Love and hate. She pulls her cousin close, and holds on tight, but refuses to shed anymore tears. Their family has been rife with tragedy for generations, and it seems that no matter the circumstance, fate is intent on raining it upon them.

 

/\

 

Betty wakes with a start, flinching as her eyes snap open, gasping with the fact that her wrists are bound with handcuffs. She can't help to pull on them, short links of chain clinking against the pole she's shackled to. Oh god, what happened? The last thing she remembers, was talking to Veronica in the girl's locker room after Vixens practice, they were the only two left because... Because?

 

“Oh thank god,” a voice calls just in front of her. “You're awake.”

 

Lifting her head, she's shocked to see Veronica's outline just a few feet away, cuffed in a similar position.

 

“What happened?” she asks. “Where are we?”

 

“Don't know,” Veronica replies. “And best guess? The boiler room.”

 

Betty glances around, sees almost nothing in the pale yellow light of a single bulb lamp mounted on a far wall, but the outline of various other pipes running throughout the room. Veronica's best guess appears to be pretty accurate. She shifts onto her knees, pulling on her cuffs to test the resistance, and knows it's useless because neither they nor the pipe will give way. Looking over to Veronica again, Betty waits until her eyes adjust, barely able to make out the details of the girl's face.

 

“What's the last thing you remember?”

 

Veronica doesn't say anything at first.

 

“V?”

 

“We were talking. In the locker room.”

 

“Okay, yeah. I remember that too. Anything else?”

 

Veronica shifts her position as well, her own cuffs clinking against a pipe.

 

“I don't,” she begins, pausing to sigh, “I'm pretty sure...” She trails off again.

 

Betty strains to make out her features in the low light.

 

“Think,” she insists. “Any detail can help.”

 

Veronica laughs without humor.

 

“Is that a quote from your handbook, Nancy Drew?”

 

Betty snickers, despite their circumstances, glad for the tension breaker.

 

“I was in the middle of confessing something,” Veronica continues. “I'm pretty sure a janitor walked in, and asked us how much longer we would be. Then...”

 

“Then?”

 

“Then, here we are.”

 

Betty kind of remembers a janitor, but her head feels fuzzy, and it's pretty obvious they were drugged somehow before being dragged down into this makeshift dungeon.

 

“What was it?” she asks. “Your confession.”

 

Veronica shifts audibly again, and Betty doesn't have to see her face to know she's looking away.

 

“Tell me.”

 

Veronica takes a breath. “It was me.”

 

“What?”

 

Her cuffs clink again.

 

“I'm the one who was looking into what happened to your family,” she confesses. “I'm the one that freak show was talking about in the note.”

 

Betty's emotions barely have time to react to the words, before the logical part of her mind demands more information.

 

“How do you know about the note?”

 

“Don't be mad,” Veronica insists. “But Toni is my sister. She tells me everything.”

 

The twisted thing inside her stirs as the anger grows, but Betty pushes it back as hard she can.

 

“Why would you do that?” she asks after a moment.

 

“It's stupid.”

 

“Maybe,” Betty concedes. “But possibly relevant.”

 

“I thought,” Veronica starts. “I thought that if I could find out what happened to your family, give you some kind of closure, that you could finally let all that pain go. Maybe then, we... Could be together.”

 

“You think my family being murdered when I was ten is why we're not together?”

 

“That, or whatever darkness living inside you, you think no one else can see.”

 

The thing rattles against its cage, screaming to be let out. Betty shifts uncomfortably, until she can reach the back of her head with her hands, pulling out the single bobby pin she always keeps in her hair. Placing it between her teeth, she bends it as best she can without being able to see which angle she needs, and begins picking at her cuffs.

 

“We're not together,” She begins. “Because my Aunt and Uncle are the biggest homophobes you are ever likely to meet. Because I put my energy into letting Cheryl have the super secret relationship. Because she saved me from feeling the brunt of our family's bigotry when I didn't care enough to shield myself from it, after she'd already suffered.”

 

The cuff she works on somehow pops open, and Betty can't help but hum in satisfaction, impressed with her own skill for being able to pick them open almost blind. She pulls her hands free and moves toward Veronica, nearly tripping on a loose pipe left on the floor, which she bends down to retrieve.

 

“We're not together,” she goes on, crouching in front of her, and fumbling around her cuffs. “Because every time I look at you, I know what happiness could be, and it terrifies me.”

 

She pops open Veronica's cuffs almost as easily as her own, and grabs the girl's hand to help her up.

 

“Betty...”

 

“Not now,” Betty cuts her off. “We need to get out of here first.”

 

“You're not going anywhere,” a voice warns from behind.

 

The pair turn to face it, emanated from the form of a man lingering next to the dull bulb on the wall, the outline of a hood on his head.

 

“Hello Betty,” the Black Hood greets.

 

She automatically steps in front of Veronica, grip tightening on the pipe in hand.

 

“Hello, Mr. Svenson.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Odalis. Because reasons.

 

Betty glances at her own reflection in the two-way mirror, half expecting to see the twisted thing unleashed, instead of her own familiar face. She wonders just how long they're going to let her stew in this interrogation room. Wonders if they've already grilled Veronica for all grizzly details of the evening's events. Wonders, just as she had at ten years old, if they'll ever let her go once they see the monster inside.

 

The door opens then, and Sheriff Keller walks into the room, accompanied by a woman in a smart looking suit.

 

“Quite the night you had Miss Cooper,” she says by way of greeting.

 

The Sheriff offers nothing himself, but an apologetic look.

 

“Am I under arrest?” Betty asks. “Because I haven't been booked. Or read my rights.”

 

The woman regards her with a smirk.

 

“I think you've dealt with handcuffs enough today, don't you?”

 

“What about a lawyer? Or a guardian? I mean, I am a minor.”

 

The woman shares a look with Keller.

 

“Kids watch all these cop shows and think they know how this works.”

 

“You're not under arrest Betty,” Keller reiterates. “As for a guardian, we're trying to get a hold of your Aunt and Uncle, but Cheryl informed us they're both in Montreal.”

 

All alone, Betty muses. Naturally.

 

The woman lays her phone on the table, scrolls to the voice recorder and hits the button.

 

“This is Detective Lupe Ramirez, along with Sheriff Tom Keller, ready to begin questioning one Elizabeth Cooper, aged sixteen.”

 

Betty looks at the phone. Is she supposed to say hello?

 

Detective Ramirez catches her eye.

 

“Please state your name for the record.”

 

Betty looks to Keller, who nods encouragingly.

 

“I'm Betty Cooper,” she says.

 

“Side note,” Ramirez interjects. “Subject in question prefers to go by Betty, and will be referred to as such from here on.”

 

Betty looks back down at the phone. Thirty seconds already ticked by.

 

“I don't understand,” she says softly. “What I'm supposed to do here.”

 

Detective Ramirez begins to answer, but Sheriff Keller offers a placating hand instead.

 

“Just tell us what happened. Try not to leave anything out.”

 

Betty takes a breath.

 

“Okay well, Veronica and I were cooling down in the girl's locker room after practice.”

 

“What kind of practice?” Ramirez asks.

 

“Vixens practice,” Betty answers. “Uh, I mean, cheerleading practice. When the janitor, Mr. Svenson-”

 

“Joseph Svenson,” Ramirez adds. “Murder suspect. Deceased.”

 

Betty's stomach drops, as her mouth closes quickly.

 

Keller shoots Ramirez a look, before moving toward Betty, and crouching down.

 

“I know this is hard,” he says warmly. “But we need to keep going.”

 

Betty nods numbly.

 

“He asked us how much longer we were going to need the room, so he could clean it I guess, and he must have done something to us because-”

 

“Done what, exactly?”

 

“I don't know,” Betty admits. “One minute, I think we were answering his question, and the next I wake up in the boiler room handcuffed to the wall.”

 

“Veronica Lodge,” Ramirez states to the recorder. “Second victim, was also there, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Betty agrees. “She was also handcuffed. Just a few feet away from me.”

 

“And you broke free of the cuffs?” the Detective asks.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Care to explain how you accomplished this?”

 

“With a bobby pin.”

 

“A bobby pin?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ramirez looks almost impressed.

 

“You picked the lock of department standard handcuffs, in the dark, with a bobby pin.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ramirez definitely looks impressed.

 

“Care to share where you learned how to do that?”

 

“The Nancy Drew Junior Detective Handbook.”

 

A laugh escapes Detective Ramirez, but she's quick to bottle it back up.

 

“You also helped Veronica Lodge get free, is that correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And that's when Joseph Svenson appeared.”

 

“It is.”

 

The Sheriff and Detective share another look.

 

“Veronica stated that he was wearing a black hood,” she states. “And that he even referred to himself as The Black Hood. She also states, that after greeting you, you addressed him as Mr. Svenson.”

 

“I did.”

 

“If he was wearing some kind of hood on his face, how did you know it was him?”

 

Betty plays with her fingernails, mumbling the answer that neither the recorder nor the adults can pick up.

 

“I'm sorry, what was that?”

 

“He wore a hood,” Betty says more clearly. “But didn't think to change his boots.”

 

“Is that when attacked you?” Ramirez asks. “After you identified him?”

 

Betty shakes her head.

 

“Please state your answer for the record.”

 

“No,” she offers. “He attacked after...”

 

Tears well, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them from falling.

 

“After?” Ramirez asks.

 

“After he admitted to killing my family.”

 

The Sheriff and Detective share a look, as if this isn't news to them, Veronica having made the same statement.

 

“Did he say why?”

 

Betty looks down at her palms, scabs still only half healed.

 

“Because no one was supposed to know,” she answers.

 

“Know what?”

 

“Who he really was.”

 

This time it's the Sheriff with a follow up question.

 

“Who was he?”

 

“Joseph Conway. Sole survivor of the Riverdale Reaper.”

 

Ramirez leans back in her chair, while Keller places his hands on his hips.

 

“Betty,” he starts. “No record shows the Conway family ever had a third child.”

 

Betty shoots him a look.

 

“Of course not,” she agrees. “That's what a cover up is, Sheriff. But you knew my Mom. When she smelled a big story, she would go after it like a rabid dog, and must have found something to prove who he is. Because why else would he have done it?”

 

The Sheriff and Detective share yet another look.

 

“We don't know.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes.

 

“He didn't say anything else?” Ramirez asks. “Before he attacked?”

 

Betty hesitates.

 

“Did he?”

 

“No,” she states firmly, looking them both in the eyes. “He didn't.”

 

“Right,” Ramirez accepts with a nod. “So he attacks you with a knife.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you retaliate with a weapon of your own?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you please state what it was for the record?”

 

“It was a pipe I found on the ground.”

 

“And you struck him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where?”

 

“On the head.”

 

“How many times?”

 

“What?”

 

“How many times did you hit him?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“You don't know?”

 

“Well, I didn't count.”

 

Ramirez, despite the severity of the questioning, looks amused.

 

“You kept hitting him.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Even when he was down.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You really didn't count?”

 

“No. Why are you asking me that?”

 

Keller looks ready to diffuse the situation again, but Ramirez puts up a hand to stop him, and surprises both he and Betty by pressing stop on the recording.

 

“Listen kid, you are not under arrest. This guy drugged you and your girlfriend, dragged you down to a dank basement, with full intent to murder you both all while trying to create some kind of serial killer persona complete with an accessory. This is a clear cut case of self defense. But it's this detail of how many times you hit him, that makes me worry.”

 

The twisted thing inside preens with satisfaction.

 

“How many?” Betty asks.

 

“Medical examiner estimates nearly thirty.”

 

“Oh,” comes out a whisper.

 

“So be straight with me. Did he say or do anything else, to make you feel such rage?”

 

Betty shakes her head.

 

But then, she always lies when asked about her feelings.

 

/\

 

She hasn't been to the cemetery since the funeral.

 

Never even saw the headstones until today.

 

Betty stands before all three of them with flowers in one hand, and Veronica's clasped in the other. Cheryl and Toni are right next to them, holding hands as well, all bowing their heads in a silent respect. Detective Ramirez let her go with the strong recommendation of counseling, and considering the circumstances, her Aunt and Uncle weren't in a position to deny however personally they may view it as weakness.

 

The twisted thing still resides inside, but is resting comfortably, finally sated with Joseph Svenson's blood on its hands. Looking at her family's names carved into stone, she thinks of all the things Mr. Svenson told her. All the details she left out of her statement.

 

How alike they were.

 

How he confessed that that only reason he survived, is because the Riverdale Reaper allowed him to, as long as he promised never to tell. That, though her own survival was never his intent, the fact that she never spoke of what happened kept him from finishing her off.

 

It wasn't until he happened to see Veronica conducting her own investigation, in the school library while he was making his rounds, that he was sent over the edge on possibly being discovered once again. Betty glances at her, knowing part of herself still wants to be angry, but simply can't find the energy.

 

He certainly was a chatty villain.

 

“No one can know, Betty.” He'd said. “Not now. Not ever.”

 

Probably over confident in their surroundings,with chance of escape so minimal, and so many years of keeping his secrets that they just came pouring out of him. He learned of her Mother's snooping, from a Sister at the Orphanage he spent time in after his family's death. (A name filed away with the thing inside, because Woodhouse sounds so familiar, though she can't place why.) Or how he became the Black Hood, because if he was going to keep on killing, he might as well have a catchy nickname like the Reaper before him.

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Veronica whispers into her ear, earning a shy smile.

 

Thoughts about that hood being Joseph (Conway) Svenson's undoing. How a man who had gotten away with killing an entire family, fumbled into a persona and gimmick, covering his face in a barely lit basement when trying to kill two spry teenagers. That his first slash with the knife was nearly blind and severely wide, leaving Betty plenty of time to counter, and strike him dead to rights on the head.

 

“Too rich for my blood,” Betty counters, offering her girl a sly wink.

 

She moves to place a few flowers before each headstone, then turns to face the group.

 

“I don't know about all of you,” she starts. “But I am over being sad. Done feeling terrified.”

 

Her eyes catch Cheryl's.

 

“Tired of hiding from who I am.”

 

The cousins share a smile.

 

Betty reaches for Veronica's hand again.

 

“Let's go to Pop's,” she offers. “I'm in serious need of a milkshake.”

 

 

 


End file.
